Irken on a Warpath
by East-Coast-Invictus
Summary: ONESHOT What if Zim figured it all out? A perusal of possibilities. OOCness and God-Moding abound.


Earth was a wasteland. The wasteland. Cities had been leveled, many of their citizens disintegrated. The rest hid in underground shelters, trembling as the rumble of explosions from above went on for eternity. No military force on the planet could have stopped it. Most military forces _off_ the planet couldn't have stopped it. There was nothing that could stop an Irken on a war path.

Especially this one.

Zoom in on one particular city. The chaos had just reached this one, chosen last to be destroyed. It was a peaceful, if a bit stupid, human development. The grass had been green. Squirrels darted here and there. Children played bludgeon ball in the school yard. But, all of this peace had been shattered into anarchy as the alien menace descended.

Floating war machines had appeared on the horizon early one morning, just as the city folk were rising from sleep. The thrum of the alien engines entered one's frame, the vibrations so deep into the infrasound spectrum that the throbbing vibrated a few unstable buildings off their foundations.

There were two of them, heated hues of red and dark purple splashed across the burly hulls. A black symbol was splayed on the very prow of both ships. The Irken symbol. At first, the people wandered out to gaze in wonder at the seemingly harmless machines. But, when the guns rotated out from beneath steel plates of armor and armed mechs dropped from the bomb bays, panic ensued.

And now, six harrowing hours later, the soon-to-be-destroyer of Earth stood surveying the wreckage from the top of a hill overlooking the smoking city. One foot placed on the bench of a picnic table, the alien had assumed a position of victory. Yes, this was the Irken.

It had been seven long years since the day he had set foot on Earth with a mind to enslave the human race for a pair of lying, snack-eating Tallest a million light years away. At first, he'd been an incompetent moron deemed by many as a sociopathic, narcissistic megalomaniac. His own race had titled him as a 'defective' food drone, blaming the tiniest Irken's 'desctructive tendencies' on a PAK malfunction. For the first few years on Earth, he'd butted heads with a particularly stubborn little human whose actions cause several of his best early plans to go awry.

Then he found out. His mission, the years wasted on this planet, his life were all a lie. One big rabid lie that foamed at the mouth. Earth was not flagged by the Irken Armada as a planet for an invasion. It wasn't even flagged for anything. At first, it had been an easy thing to ignore, just a fly buzzing in the back of mind. But the doubt grew as the years went by.

Things were different now. He had been the first of his species to accomplish what none had ever done – develop a mind of his own. It was common knowledge that an Irken owed his personality, intelligence, etc. to his PAK. The PAK essentially _was_ the Irken. The fragile, insectoid body was just a means of carrying it around. The Irkens were programmed. But, there were those whose PAKs malfunctioned. The ones before this particular Irken did not recognize the malfunction as an opportunity. They were locked up or destroyed. But, this one was different. The bug in his PAK was so demented, so… "defective", it even caused the control brain aboard the _Massive_ to go insane.

And gradually, as doubt and depression plagued him, thoughts unlike anything he'd ever experienced took hold. Vengeful notions. Radical ideas. Thoughts of usurpation.

But, the trained thought that had been drilled into him from his first day out of the smeet tube, still steered him down the road he'd been on. Away from such nasty, bad things that his new mind was telling him. It would be noted among the human children that their green-skinned classmate seemed to have a split personality.

But the PAK could try in vain to control this new opponent. With it had come a greater intelligence, a keener wit. The foolish actions and behavioral patterns of bygone days dissipated. Insanity was overcome. The Dib human was having a harder and harder time keeping up and finally, after the seven-year-long race, Dib stumbled on the last lap.

The Irken felt an ugly smirk creeping across his visage at the thought of human. He snapped his fingers and a robot appeared suddenly at his side. It produced a small remote and handed it to its master. The Irken hefted the little thing in one three-fingered hand, examining its squarish body and the oh-so-clichéd large, red button in the center.

He glanced back up at the burning city. One finger hovered above the button. To make the final blow…?

--

Sneaking just below the Irken's line of sight, said human was making a discreet bee line towards the hilltop. His lanky frame moved swiftly in spite of several wounds. The black trench coat was ripped and torn. There was a gash across his chest. A vein-like crack ran diagonally across the left lens of his glasses.

Dib wetted his dry, chapped lips as he came to a stop behind a flipped picnic table. Briefly, he popped his head up over the table. Zim had his back to him and was looking out over the city. The change in Zim's personality was physical as well as mental. Defying Dib's own research, the Irken had broken the laws of Irken physics by growing taller. He now stood level with Dib. The funny little uniform Zim wore for years had changed as well.

The maroon top was a darker shade of red, longer and designed almost like Dib's trench coat without the zipper. The formerly pink shoulders had gone black and flared slightly. A black Irken symbol had been sown into the front. His sleeves had gone grey, disappearing into flaring, shiny black gloves. Zim's boots reminded Dib of Tak's: armor on the toe and straps, still shiny black. He fit the perfect image of an Invader. But, there was something different about the PAK as well. More so than Zim's clothing. The pink nodes on the PAK had faded slightly, like a light short circuiting. Perhaps this had something to do with Zim's change.

Dib slid back down and leant his back against the table top, breathing heavily. All of his efforts today had been in vain. He'd been there when Zim initiated the first of the zoot demolishers, the floating war machines. But, he hadn't been able to stop the Irken. Since yesterday he'd been chasing Zim from place to place, trying to stop the demolishers from rising up from the ground where they'd been placed years before by Zim. And try as he might, Zim bested him at every turn.

Even the weapons he had developed specifically to destroy Zim had failed. When the last of his weapons, a water gun, had failed to at least halt the destruction, Dib began to get desperate. This last run would be a suicide one.

None of his family was left. Conscious, at least. Gaz was lying comatose in the town square after trying and failing herself to bring down Zim. The dark change in the formerly bumbling moron dubbed Zim had frightened even her.

Swallowing hard and licking his lips again, Dib leapt from behind the picnic table and sprinted for Zim's unprotected back. He was halfway there when the robot, GIR, appeared and handed Zim a control button. A ragged cry tore from Dib's throat as he jumped the last few feet, hands reaching for the Irken's neck.

But, something interrupted his flight and slammed him down onto his back. A number of sharp, spear-like tips plunged into his sleeves and pant legs, nicking his limbs slightly as he was pinned to the ground. Zim stood over him, eyes narrowed into red slits and a menacing chuckle rolling up from his chest. Looking around, Dib found that the spears were actually the spider legs from Zim's PAK. "Stupid, foolish human. You really must be desperate," the Irken said, lips pulling back to reveal his blocky teeth. This was more of the Zim he used to know, the one ruled by the PAK.

"You monster!" was all Dib could muster. Zim shook his head slowly, a condescending expression replacing the grin as he sighed. One gloved hand seized Dib by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. Dib heard fabric ripping and he found himself being held at eye level with Zim. They'd risen up on the spider legs, the ground near five or six feet below them.

"By your standards, perhaps, but this is child's play compared to what a full armada of zoot demolishers could do. Too bad I didn't have the resources for one." Zim smiled a sickly sweet smile. "And this has all come to pass on account of your ineptitude. For shame."

Snarling, Dib swung his fists at the green face before him, growing somewhat hysterical and shouting obscenities. Zim merely laughed, leaning back and away from Dib. "Don't throw a fit, child," he said with a laugh and released Dib. The ground rushed up and all Dib saw for a few seconds were stars. When his eyes refocused, GIR was nose to nose with him.

"Can I eat his brains? You said I could!" the robot complained, the teal eye optics looking pleadingly at Zim.

"No, no brains for you, GIR. Can't have you going crazy and stuff again." GIR slumped dejectedly and sat down. Heaving a sigh, Zim lowered himself back down, the spider legs disappearing back into his PAK.

"Why don't you just do it already?" Dib queried, his voice hoarse and cracking. "Blow it up!"

Zim shrugged, twirling the remote in his hand. "Maybe I don't feel like it," he said nonchalantly. That smirk was back. "Maybe I just did all of this to see you like that – broken, beaten, and desperate."

"Well, you've accomplished that, obviously," Dib spat.

"Or…"

"Or?"

All trace of amusement, smugness, etc. was gone from Zim's expression. The pink nodes on his PAK fluctuated rapidly between pink and grey. "Or maybe this is just a test. A test to see if I have enough fire power to overthrow those pathetic…_useless_…**snack-stuffing _liars_** that _put_ me on this worthless planet in the first place!" All of the pent up rage that had been smoldering in the depths of his new consciousness came forth. Dib could practically feel the hatred rolling off Zim's words. Seething, Zim chucked the control at a nearby tree with a snarl. The thing smashed easily against the tree.

Down in the city, the demolishers stopped firing and hung motionless in the air. Dib swallowed, getting up slowly and feeling every single bruise and scrape that he'd garnered in the past 36 hours. "What are you saying, Zim?" he asked, a hopeless, frightened expression widening his eyes. Zim's eyes were slits as he replied. The PAK was completely grey. The Irken had finally overcome his natural programming and took the first step into a life he ruled.

"Take your planet. My war machines have passed their test." He strode up to Dib and jammed a finger into his chest. "But don't think I won't be back. Operation Impending Doom 2 will continue and you better have sufficient defenses when _my_ armada enters your galaxy. Gir! Come!" And with that, Zim pivoted on one heel and snapped his fingers again. His voot cruiser shimmered into existence a couple feet away. The Irken and his robot entered the ship. "Be ready, Dib" and "Bye bye, big head!" were the last things Dib heard before the cruiser's engines flared and the ship shot up into the atmosphere.

As if the takeoff was a silent signal, the demolishers sheated their guns and followed suit. Across the globe, the other demolishers lifted off into space. The alien machines congregated just within eyesight and, with a flash, the entire force disappeared.

Dib's mouth had fallen open and he stared in awe at the place where the flash occurred. In the city, the cheers of the people were loud. Breathing unsteadily, Dib hit his knees still staring.

--

A plaque on a stone monument stood on that hill several years later. Fall had set in and a brown hue dominated the land. The city was thriving, futuristic metropolis. White puffy clouds blocked the sun here and there. It shone down on the plaque, making the bronze plating sparkle. It read –

"Let it be known that on this hill top four years ago, Dib defeated the alien menace Zim and sent him fleeing into the confines of space." The people hailed him as a world-wide hero. No longer did anyone doubt his sanity or state of mind. They listened to him when he suggested a planetary defense system and requested for Earth to have it's own space armada in case any other aliens desired to invade it. Dib finally got the recognition he had wanted, albeit in the form of another one of those big, fat lies. Only he himself knew the true story.

And a certain, green-skinned Irken, of course.

--

AN: So yeah, that's my first ZIM fic. It's probably the most ludicrous, baseless idea you're ever going to find but…anyway. My excuse is that it's 12:07 AM and I'm kind of tired. Just another one of those spur of the moment things. Most of my Irken facts came from wikipedia, if anyone wonders. Like it, love it? Leave a review. If not…still leave a review. –shrug-


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